Danny wraps up his B.o.B. Day, and sees a monowheel landing.
The afternoon passed off without any major disasters, the crowd oohed and aahed over the flying displays, the Tiger being as always a favourite (we may have had the "old-tramp-pinches-aircraft-left-ticking-over-while-pilot-goes-for-ice-cream" routine, but I'm not sure). My Welsh Folk Dancers gave their last performance; the Station Commander (who knew what was good for him) making a particular point of thanking Mrs H-W profusely for her and her girls' efforts; their coach driver was found (not, I trust, in the Beer Tent), and off they went. The afternoon was adjudged a complete success.
Our visiting static displays refuelled and went home. Our own came back. My first task was, of course, to round up my crew, dismantle the Ring and return it to store - for it would surely rain over the weekend. Then, and only then, could I dismiss them and go back to the Mess for a well-earned half-pint (or perhaps two).
The British (well Welsh) public were no better in their day than their counterparts are today in the matter of dumping litter. Our only advantage was that plastic bags had not yet been invented. After 48 hours, the standing Valley gale would have redistributed most of the paper bags all over Anglesey, but bottles, tins, ice cream cartons, cigarette packets and sundry rubbish remained. From Monday the clean-up began (it was just as well that we'd had our AOC's Inspection earlier in the year). It would be the next weekend before our cleaning parties made Valley half way presentable.
It was a few days after that that "Bish" (he who had left the FAA with three Seafires "confirmed" to his name) was just lifting off in a Spitfire when his port wheel left him. It went bounding off into Rhosneigr, from where it was returned to us (there being no ready market for Spitfire wheels), together with a sheaf of compensation claims. From the size and number of these it would appear that the wheel had caused unbelievable damage in the village, almost demolishing a small bungalow.
Meanwhile Bish was airborne with his peg-legged Spitfire. It was left to him what to do: he elected to do a one-wheel landing. This he executed brilliantly (reminded me of that wonderful bit of wartime film - which everybody must have seen - of a B-17 pilot doing it perfectly). Bish kept the left wing up as long as he could, and there wasn't much damage when the hub touched the tarmac, and he slewed onto the grass and it went up on its nose (just a bent blade, I think) and flopped back. He was unhurt.
And now we had the "smoking gun". The wheel had recently been changed, and of course the hub nut should have been split-pinned. Assuming a wheel race had jammed (broken ball ?), would the whole assembly have been able to rotate on the shaft, and transmit enough torque through the washer to shear the pin and spin the nut off ? (All this is half-remembered mech's chat overheard by one with no mechanical expertise and which may well be arrant nonsense - in which case I invite correction).
If that had been the case, then the remains of the pin must still be jammed in the hole in the stub axle. The hole was empty, therefore there had been no split pin. I think the offending airman got fourteen days in the House of Correction from the Station Commander in which to reflect on the importance of Split Pins.
Cheers, chaps,
Danny42C
"For the want of a nail..."
Last edited by Danny42C; 6th Feb 2013 at 23:00.
Reason: Spacing Error.